


After Discharge

by Mun V (Vendetta_Panda)



Category: Wilson's Heart (Video Game)
Genre: AU, AU where Wilson doesnt die and Bela turns him into a vampire, Alternate Universe, Angst, Comfort, Demons, Family, Fear, Fluff, Ghosts, M/M, No Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Vampires, Werewolves, and their werewolf son, and vampire daughter, boris is a lot to handle, oh yeah wilson's dead wife is here too, teddy bear demon, two men in denial of their homosexual feelings in the 1940s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendetta_Panda/pseuds/Mun%20V
Summary: Some of the strongest bonds are formed under duress. Total strangers can become a family with time, understanding, and shared experiences if they just give it a chance.(A series of drabbles I did for an October Write list that never ended up getting finished.)
Relationships: Bela Belasco (Wilson's Heart)/Robert Wilson (Wilson's Heart)
Kudos: 1





	1. Darkness (Wilson)

Sweat beaded up on the veteran’ forehead, rolling down from his temporals and matting his hair to his pallid skin before charging down his face much like how he charged down the long hallway that seemed to stretch on infinitely. His chest ached with how rapidly it rose and fell, cracked sternum offering a creaking ache with every harsh breath he pulled into his burning lungs. He tried to call out into the sprawling hallway before him, eyes flickering about for any sign that someone else might be around to hear his pleas as they echoed back into his ears. No one answered him, save for the snarls of the darkness rapidly gaining ground behind him. Wilson kicked his legs faster and faster, willing himself to try and put some more distance between him and the hellish darkness that was rapidly catching up. He just needed a little more time. His bones throbbed within his muscles and his joints ached. His throat felt like a wrung towel being squeezed with every wheezing inhale. His panic only grew as he watch the lights explode after he passed them, then as he passed them, then before he passed them. Something hard collided with his shins and he felt forward with a loud cry, throwing his arms out to catch himself. The foot never greeted him.

Robert felt himself fall and sink into something thick and aqueous. When he opened his eyes, he could see that he was suspended in some translucent darkness, that had quickly filled the whole hallways. He looked forward towards the dimly illuminated end of the hall, then back behind him to see the figures of the darkness rapidly making their way to him through the soft liquid that engulfed him. He let out a muffled, warbling yelling and rapidly began moving towards the illuminated end of the hallway. He just needed to make it to the light. The darkness could hurt him there. Yet once again he could feel himself frantically moving through the substance, and yet he never seemed to get any closer. But the beings did. The shadowy silhouettes surrounded him, their bodies snuffing out the salvation of the hallway’s end until their eerie pale eyes were the only light source left. They entangled the elder in their limbs, dragging him downwards into an abyss of black he’d not been aware of until that moment, and for the first time in a long time, Robert felt a true and horrifying sense of existential terror that caused him to scream. He screamed into the liquid shadows where none could hear him until there was no air left in his overworked lungs to do so any longer, and the last of his bubbles that he could see were lost to the dark figures and his blurring vision.

There was a brief episode of instinctual flailing that possessed Wilson’s body before he darted upright in his bed, a throaty scream splitting the silence as he jolted awake. Sweat plastered his hair to his face, his shirt to his back and chest. He heaved in mouthfuls of air, choking on his own breaths as he clutched the sheets hard enough that his own grip turned his knuckles white, left his wrists quivering as adrenaline continued to course through his veins. It took the man a moment to completely shake himself from the nightmare and glance around his bedroom. Silver moonlight cast a pale blue glow across the walls and furniture of his home, vaguely illuminating it all as he struggled to calm himself and focus his vision on the bedroom door that had been crack open and was now slowly beginning to yawn with a drowsiness he could only wish was within his grasp.

In the doorway, clinging to the wooden frame, stood Lucy. Freshly back from a trip through the night, she been back not ten minutes before coming to peer into the room and investigate the scream she’d heard when she found Wilson in rather a state upon his bed. For a moment, the two locked eyes and nothing was said between them. Not from Wilson because he couldn’t manage anything, and not from Lucy because she dared not say anything. It took the man a few more seconds to find his breathing rate again and release the quilt from his death grip. His voice was hoarse, vocal cords momentarily shredded from the ghastly cry he’d released so suddenly and without warning.

“Hey there, kiddo… I didn’t wake you, did I?” Upon heading him address her, Lucy left her post at the doorway and abandoned her act of timidity. She joined him on the mattress, hoisting herself up onto it and sitting upon the very edge of it by his feet.

“You were screaming in your sleep again.” It was spoken in a flat, monotonous tone. Stated for the fact it was as she lightly swung her legs off the edge.

Wilson managed a sigh from deep within his chest and out through his nostrils. He opened his mouth to apologize but Lucy continued and cut him off before he had the chance to speak. Her gaze moved from his face down to the floor, towards her little feet as they kicked at nothing. “What happened this time?”

It took the elder a moment to gather his thoughts. So rarely the nightmares stayed within his brain, but this one was fresh. A brand. Something he would never forget, no matter how long he lived or how hard he tried. And he almost said as much. Almost. When he opened his eyes again, he turned his gaze from Lucy to the window, where silvery moonlight illuminated the window box full of roses and a letter he’d left on the table right by the glass. She was still a child his mind, no matter how many time she tried to remind him otherwise. And no child needed to bear the burden of hearing what was going on inside his head. Hearing that a grown man was afraid of the darkness. It was bullshit. Hogwash. And Lucy didn’t need to hear any of it. No one did- but especially not her.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, gently ushering off of the sheets. She moved off of his bed without much protest but turned and looked back up at him with a knowing glance. She was no fool but still listened as he insisted. “Now you run off and get to bed, alright? You need your rest.”

By his tone, Lucy knew he wasn’t going to change his answer. And that he wasn’t going to bed. But it would be fruitless to try and argue with him, and so she turned on her heel and made her way out of the room. But as she turned the corner, she paused after a few step and glanced back to the door from a short ways down the hallway, and she could have sworn she heard the sound of Wilson weeping in the night. She hesitated for just moment at the sound, a writing sensation of some foreign pain wriggling in her chest before abruptly dying as she moved to get back to her own room.

All this time and he was still just as afraid of the dark as she was.


	2. Moonlight (Evelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn is stirred from her eternal slumber by something powerful and seeks to find out what it is.

The woman awoke to the brilliant light of the moon hanging over her. She squinted her eyes and slowly raised her hands to try and block out the silvery glow of the great light above her, but to no avail. As her pale grey irises adjusted to the influx of radiant beams, she realized she could glimpse the moon’s scarred face through her arms. They were completely translucent under the light, but as she lowered them, she found that they appeared solid. Stretching a bit, she slowly rose to her feet, leaning heavily against a great stone as she found her balance and remembered how to walk. Goodness, it felt like she’d been sleeping for an eternity. She pulled back, she glanced at her sturdy support to find it was a headstone with her own name engraved into the rock. Immediately she startled and stumbled back, tripping over another headstone and falling back onto her rear. All she could see in the sky above her was the pallid moon and thick black clouds that threatened to engulf it, snuff out its beautiful light. She raised her hands once more as the last strands of silver fell behind the black curtain of fog.

This couldn’t be happening. She was dead? Was she a ghost? Was this what being a ghost felt like? But if she was dead, why was she back here? Where were the pearly gates and fluffy clouds holding up a great kingdom of gold she’d been promised in the afterlife? Evelyn shuddered and clutches herself, rising once more upon shaky knees and stumbling back to rest against an oak tree. The branches loomed over her, offering her no comfort as she began to whimper and sob. Oh God, what was she to do? Why was she here? She could so clearly remember the moment when she slipped away, weightless as a feather drifting off the operating table she’d been brought to, her last memories being of her and Wilson. Their first kiss, their warm days under the sun, their nightly dances, their last goodbye.

Wilson.

She raised her face from her hands, casting a blurry glance at her surroundings. Was he still alive? An idea caused her to quickly stumble over herself as she rose to her feet once more and rushed over to her tombstone. The one beside her was blank. Robert’s tombstone was blank and empty. She felt herself clutch at her chest. He was still alive- thank the stars! But then, where was he?

At that very moment, Evelyn felt a tingle run through her body and a heavy weight set against her chest. She rose up off the ground, the gesture originally unnoticed before she quickly swung backward and collapsed onto the ground again. She hissed in pain and rubbed at her head, before slowly moving to try and levitate once more. She rattled for several moments, attempting to get a feel for how this new way of balancing work, but once she did, she felt the weight on her grow strong. It felt like something was pulling her. And whatever was at the other end of this invisible leash was in the hospital she had spotted a good distance away.

A deep fog surrounded the whole building, thick as soup. It didn’t deter her though. Evie floated closer to the fog and stuck her hand out to it, watching in amazement as a gap opened itself in the mist around her hand, the thick heavy clouding refusing to even graze her. The spirit took a breath to steel her nerves, before pressing onward through the mist. It was so terribly dense even as it parted for her to pass through, she was certain she’d walk into a wall. Much to her surprise however, Evelyn felt herself fall through the wall, thick wood, lead, and steel beams slowing her emergence before she found herself in a dimly lit hallway. The end of it leading towards an exit was blocked off by fallen debris and so she pressed on down the more illuminated path. The corridor seemed to stretch on and on, warping around her as she went further into the building, falling the leash seemingly tied to her heart.

Allowing her hands to skim along the walls, Evie couldn’t help but look over the disorder that was left behind in the seemingly vacant building and wonder- what happened? Hospitals were places of peace, quiet, and strict organization. People milled about the halls in silence, with only the machines left to hold conversations with each other through the walls of the place. But now, not a soul inhabited the halls. Papers were strewn about, furniture tipped over, doors left flung open and power only left running in a few, dim places. There were strange marks left about, and the occasional blood smear trailing across the floor. Evelyn shivered at the sight of it all. It seemed like everyone had tried to get out in haste, perhaps right after something got in.

But then, why was she here? Why was she being led through this house of horrors, forced to witness the aftermath of some grizzly event that seemed to wipe the place clean? Passing through the moonbeams and through another door, Evelyn could feel herself growing hopeless in her current circumstances. There was no solid reason to be here and she stopped. Her pause came just in time for her to witness a peculiar movement out of the corner of her vision. A door closed, and someone vanished behind it. She rushed forward and squeezed herself through the wooden barricade in time to see the person- a man- heading down a hall. By now the feeling in her chest was stronger than ever, seemingly pulling her towards the door. She tilted her head, nonexistent breath hitching as the man stopped and she drew closer, slowly moving towards his front to get a glimpse of his face. Suddenly, the weight seemed to fall off of her. Her eyes widened.

That jawline, those deep eyes, that unmistakable stubble and the way his drawn back hairline was parted slightly off-center to the right- it was Wilson! Evelyn could feel her heart burst in glee and she circled him several times, attempting to get a better look at him. He was so much older than he was when she last remembered seeing him- then again, it had been thirty years after all. Still, he looked so much like her familiar sweet Bobbie, she couldn’t forget that handsome face if she tried. She moved in front of him, opening her mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting the moment he too recognized her so she could jump into his arms, when he moved forward and passed straight through her. The woman jolted back, horrified at the realization.

He… He couldn’t see her.

She tried calling out to him. But he couldn’t hear her.

Evelyn shook her head, furious tears filling her eyes as she balled her hands into fists. No. No no no- that wasn’t fair! She got to see him, but she could talk to him? And he couldn’t see her? No! She trailed behind him, whimpering and pleading with him to answer her, praying that this wasn’t so. This couldn’t be her eternal afterlife. Spending every waking moment of the rest of her existence following the love of her life without ever being able to interact with him? What was the point of her being here then?

As she followed Wilson into the darkened corridor, he stopped and drew back, intersecting with her once again as he let out a shocked cry. Evelyn immediately looked up to meet the source of his horror. The darkness warped and twisted itself into wiry black shapes, hellish silhouettes like those of unnervingly tall, wiry men looming over the two but threatening only one of them. The darkness cooled around Wilson’s legs, immobilizing him. A hand reached out to grasp at his throat, clutching onto the skin and beginning to squeeze. Evelyn yelled at the evil creature, feeling a building fury within her. She clawed at the things arms, before finally shoving against its chest firmly and telling it to back off. She felt a burst of power emanate from her and panted at the exertion. She felt drained all of a sudden, but it seemed that it had worked.

A long curtain nearby her flew aside, radiant moonbeams from a temporary rift in the fog spilling in from the window it once covered and piercing the creature that had just been pushed away from Wilson, setting him free. The light seemed to pierce its skin, burning it from the inside out, and before long, the others just like it began to share the same fate, dissolving in the radiant glow. Evelyn modded, pleases by the fact she was able to handle such poor-mannered ruffians, before turning to examine her husband on the floor, clutching at his windpipe and catching the breath that had been stolen from him. He was alright it seemed, as he recovered after a moment and quickly found his feet again. He was okay. He was safe. Evelyn has made sure of that. And now that she thought about it, she may have just found her reason for being here.

She was here because Wilson needed her, and she was here to protect him no matter what happened.


	3. Autumn Colors (The Mystery Man)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent has always admired the fall. Such lovely weather it brings.

The air around this time of year always had a sort of crispness to it. A kind Vincent was so fond of. Watching the greenery of the world fade away into golds and crimsons and oranges akin to the pumpkins that seemed to suddenly be popping up everywhere was mesmerizing to the man. Accompanied by the cool breeze, Van Helsing often found this season a most ideal time to go for his long walks. He often enjoyed finding quiet park benches to plant himself as he got lost in his notes, or a book he’d rented, or a letter sent to him from a local client. Indeed, along with all its beauty, the season seemed to bring about a dramatic influx in business. Superstitious customers often found the month of October to be bad luck for varying reasons. From the idea that the holidays often opened up portals to the afterlife- good and bad, to the reminder of decrepit and abandoned places shrouded in legends and mystery, and the plucky amateur explorers that would undoubtedly begin scouring the places in hopes of finding a thrill or two amongst all the whispers and cobwebs. Vincent did not share in the adrenaline high. He didn’t work for thrills. He worked for the satisfaction of the kill.

Over the years, he had noticed that with the chill of autumn came along the very beings he searched for. Hoping to blend in amongst the momentary crowds of people dressed like them, believing that in this day and age monster hunters like him no longer existed. But they were wrong. And every year, Vincent sniffed out demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, witches and the like. All who so foolishly revealed themselves, thinking they’d be safe amongst the crowds and momentarily letting their guards down just in time for him to swoop in and go for the kill. Snuffed out like flickering candles within the holiday pumpkins. The only traces of them that remained in this world were the scrawlings of them and their power he wrote into his notebooks, and the occasional trophy he collected from their ravaged corpses.

The colors of fall seemed to indicate a shift in the balance of nature and in the balance of mystic power within the world. He was never quite able to understand what it was about this season in particular that drew out the supernatural beings. Was it really the cultural traditions tied with the time of year? Or could it be something for physically alluring about the autumn that lulled the beasts in a false sense of security? Something about the season seemed to appeal to paranormal, much to the delight and chagrin of the monster hunter. Still, he supposed that this was merely another reason why he loved the season so. Perhaps even the main reason. The influx of wily creatures meant more pages full of notes to be added to his collections, new trophies on his already garishly decorated walls. He almost chuckled in amusement at the prospect.

This season seemed ripe for exploring, and plenty of exploring he did. There were still so many secrets he had yet to uncover when it came to the subjects of his intrigue, so many unanswered questions, so much he still had yet to understand about these creatures he’d dedicated his life to hunting and exterminating. With the autumn winds came a change of pace, a guiding breeze leading him in the direction of the path which he so often took to his prey. Almost as though the world was calling out to him, reminding him of his oaths, his vows, and reminding him that only he had the power to liberate the world from the scourges of evil that plagued it so. It was hardly a humble idea, he thought. It was best not to think too heavily on it either. Hubris so often was the folly of man. Besides, he thought as he stroked his beard, he was no hero. He was no saint nor savior. He was a man seeking vengeance for what had happened to him, looking to right what had been wronged, and looking to prevent the misfortune such as what he’d endured from befalling anyone else. He was not a protector, he was an avenger. This he repeated to himself before rising from the bench he was currently sat upon beneath a wavering willow tree. He breathed in the cool, crisp air before stepping away from his perch.

He couldn’t help but remark to himself once again how lovely the weather was this time of year. Beneath the soles of his shoes came the pleasant crunching of dry leaves and grass underfoot. His hands rested behind his back, chest out and chin raised a slight as he passed down the neatly laid path before him. Following down the way marked by headstones on either side, the man took his time with his deliberate steps, embracing the winds and the warm sun on his cheeks and on his spectacles. Halfway down his walkway he stopped and turned to a pair of graves. Evelyn and Robert Wilson. The man whom he’d been told was the prior holder of the device he’d recently come to acquire- an essential trinket and the key to unlocking the secrets of all things paranormal and supernatural.

“You’ve left me with quite a task here, my good sir.” He looked down at the headstone and the freshly-placed bouquet of flowers on the soft bed of dirt in front of it. “It is rather unfortunate we never had the chance to formally meet. I feel you could have been of great assistance in cracking the code behind the device. Very helpful indeed.”

Of course, Van Helsing received no response. Not that he was expecting any to begin with. Dead men told no tales, he knew this fact well. Still, he drew the device from one of the interior pockets of his coat and held it up, glancing between the device and the grave. The wind seemed to send several golden leaves swirling around his hand in response.

“Though I have a feeling you will be soon enough.”


	4. Pumpkins (Lucy and Wilson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy doesn't understand the tradition of carving pumpkins, so Wilson intends to lift her spirit about it.

So many people spoke of the joys of retirement, praising a period of life where they could finally enjoy the fruits of their labors and spend the rest of their days in comfort and luxury. Wilson was not one of those people. Whether it was just his nature or his experiences that caused his perception to deviate so heavily from the norm others held on the subject he did not know, but Robert simply didn’t feel right spending his days doing nothing. It felt pointless, boring. It drove him mad and did nothing to stimulate him and keep his attention from the repetitious thoughts that echoed around in his skull. It was why even now at the ripe old age of sixty-seven, he went off to work every morning and spent the whole day repairing various machinery that people brought to him on the fritz. And he was content living that life. In the mornings, he’d leave Lucy to sleep and serve a small breakfast for himself and Boris, leave for work all day, then be back by the late afternoon to clean up any messes the bear had made and give Lucy her dinner if she hadn’t caught something to eat on her own already. Of course, not every day was a workday however. There were some days when Wilson was forced to stay home and find other ways to occupy his jittery mind.

The idea came to him one Sunday morning as he stood on his front porch with Lucy sitting in the deck swing nearby him. He sipped from a cup of morning tea as he watched his neighbors along the street. Some of them, old veterans or retirees like he should have been, were enjoying a morning drink as they sat in their rockers on their own decks or went on an early walk while the sun wasn’t fully out and the weather was still rather forgiving. Others, however, had very different plans. With October here and Halloween just around the corner, many were beginning to put up decorations to commemorate the season. Skeleton hands rose from the dirt of neatly kept lawns. Hellhounds lingered in gardens, towering over gnomes and guarding precariously neat flowers. The occasional statuette of some horror icon lingered at the doors of some houses. Draculas and Frankenstein’s greeted potential guests in truly ghoulish ways. Lucy snickered at the sights, commenting on them.

“If they wanted something scary, they should have put up Nosferatu instead.” Then she turned to Robert. “Why don’t you put up a Nosferatu, Wilson?”

“Pretty sure I’ve got all the terrifying little bloodsucker I need right here, kiddo.” He chuckled and reached down to lightly ruffle at Lucy’s hair. She stifled a grin and tugged off her headband, protesting the motion as she smoothed her golden locks back into place and placed the ornament back on her head.

“That’s not a bad idea though. We should decorate for Halloween, don’t ya think?” He turned to the child, looking to get a second opinion. She offered a small grin back in return, momentarily flashing her sharp incisors.

“We could have a lot of bat decorations,” she offered before lowering her voice. “Do you think I could get away with showing off my wings and horns?”

“I think you could,” he mumbled. “But I wouldn’t risk it.”

The line caused Lucy to deflate a slight, but she didn’t protest it. It would be a rather risky move. Too risky for someone who wasn’t quite sure if she was still being pursued by that cabal or not.

“I’d need to pick up a few lights… maybe some tinsel. I’ll be sure to get more than enough bats for you and Bela respectively. Probably could get a little costume for Boris from the baby section—“

“Yeah, I’m sure he wouldn’t rip up your arm.” The young vampire rolled her eyes as she settled back in her chair. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Why not? This is the one time of year where there are clothes his size that aren’t covered in baby rattles or polka dots or little baby ducklings. We could dress him up as a cowboy, or a unicorn, or a little baby hot dog-“

“I can hear you thinking about it!” Came a shrill cry from within the house, causing both of the residents currently outdoors to laugh.

“I’d have to get two or three bags of candy.”

“Why not just one?” Lucy raised a brow.

“Because I know if Kurt decides to swing by- and I’m sure he will- our chocolate supply will be as good as gone.”

“You’re still on about that whole candy bar thing?” Lucy moved to raise her legs onto the swing, sprawling out on it and lazily rocking back on forth on it.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who decided to have a snack break while we were trying to get out of a haunted hospital.” There was another brief series of giggles shared between the two, paused only as Wilson took another swing from his cup.

“And I’ll have to get a few pumpkins.”

“Why pumpkins?” Lucy rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow, glancing at her “adoptive father” of sorts.

“Everyone gets pumpkins on Halloween. It’s a tradition. You turn into jack-o-lanterns or pie, it’s a seasonal treat.” He glanced back at her, baffled at her question.

“It’s a tradition to carve the flesh of dead plant, gut it, and put an open flame inside of it for a bit of decoration?” The incredulous jesting nature of Lucy’s tone was nothing new to him, he’d learned to live with her many sarcastic comments.

“Well anything would sound gruesome if you put it like that,” he snipped back playfully before turning back to watch his neighbors once more. “Nothing says Halloween quite like pumpkins. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin pie spice, carved pumpkins, pumpkin and beans, pumpkin cake, baked pumpkin seeds. You gotta have ‘em when the time comes around or things just aren’t the same.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re all that special.” Lucy flopped back onto the swing. “And you can't convince me otherwise.”

“Not even if told you, you could carve a bunch of bats into the pumpkins when I get them?” Wilson turned to glance at her, a smug knowing look on his face as he waited. A beat passed and Lucy rolled over and looked up at him.

“Okay, maybe pumpkins are kind of special.” She huffed. Wilson chuckled in response and finished his tea.

“I knew you’d come around.”


	5. Bats (Lucy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy, like any vampire would, loves bats. Why her dad adores them she's less sure about.

Lucy never quite understood what it was about bats that fascinated humans so much, especially around the Halloween season. Vampires like her knew to love them because they were so much like her kind. She even had wings comparable to theirs- though her captors had the ability to turn into bats completely, a trait lost on her much to her dismay. Still, she had a solid reason to love bats for herself. Their association with vampires aside, humans just seemed to have an inexplicable fondness for the flying furry creatures. Cutouts of them seemed to suddenly be everywhere, figures of them posted in every window, on every porch. She figured it might get her some type of answer if she asked Wilson.

“Why do you humans like bats so much?” She pushed a chair up beside Wilson’s worktable in his garage, watching as he drew on pieces of wood using a permanent marker.

“I’m not sure, kiddo. I like ‘em because they’re cute. Got those big noses and ears and the beady eyes- they’re real cute critters, don’t ya think?” He glanced over at the child who nodded in response, still rather unclear. Her puzzlement must’ve shown because Wilson only let a beat pass before pulling up his own chair beside her and rest a hand on her shoulder. “Somethin’ on your mind, baby bats?”

Lucy giggled at the nickname. Wilson was very much the type to give people he cared about rather endearing nicknames. They were annoying first to the less than socialized child, but over time, they grew on her and Lucy found herself quite liking the idea of being fondly referred to as Wilson’s daughter. Though she’d noticed many of the locals often gave Wilson the stink eye when the two were out and about, and on more than one occasion Lucy had been asked if she was okay, or if she’d been hurt, where her parents were, and where she was going with this “strange man”. All this amongst looks of pity or concern. Wilson either didn’t notice the people’s expressions or didn’t care. In either case, Lucy covered herself from being separated from him by stating he was an adoptive father, that she was perfectly fine, unharmed, and happy with her guardian. And Wilson’s heart was warmed each time he heard her say it, even when he pretended not to notice. What started out as a mechanism for survival quickly evolved into a genuine familial bond on her end. An awkward attachment but an attachment nonetheless.

“I just don’t get it is all,” she pondered. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been too busy avoiding people, but we never had celebrations like this back when…”

Wilson didn’t dare finish the sentence, but he knew what Lucy meant. She came from a Puritan-dominated time period and place. All work, no play. Celebrations were taboo, any sort of indulgent fun was forbidden. Children focused on responsibility and prayed and that was that. And for Lucy, it carried with it a bitterly traumatic event and the memory of her friends and family whom she’d lost in those accursed trials. Still, he tried to offer her a reassuring smile and cheer her up.

“Frankly, I couldn’t tell ya where or when we decided to pick up bats and pumpkins. It’s just something that sorta… merged in with the tradition I guess. But hey,” he gently touched on her nose with the tip of his finger. “If you’re that curious about it, I’ll take you trick-or-treating this year just so you can have the full experience. I don’t know what kind of answers you’ll get out of it- if you get any at all, but it might be fun. How’s that sound?”

The idea seemed to rattle around inside Lucy’s head for a while. It would be a new experience, one she’d never gotten to even try before. But now that she had the opportunity, it felt a bit daunting. “But who will pass out that candy?”

“I’m sure Boris can handle it. He’s a smart bear.” Wilson chuckled. “That way the four of us could go outside and get some fresh air together. Think of it as a family outing.”

“Four of us?” Lucy tilted her head.

“Yeah- well- I figured Kurt’s probably gonna drop by looking for sweets. And I planned on inviting Bela. Thought he could use a little night walk to take his mind off of work. He’s always working too hard, I thought it would be nice to offer him a little break, you know? Friendly gesture and all- it seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Wilson’s extended attempt to justify inviting one of his closest and only friends did not go unnoticed. She raised a brow at him and flashed him a small smirk. He scowled back at her and shook it off, continuing. “Anyway- it’ll be Halloween. You’ll blend right in with the crowds of kids, you’ll get free candy, and you’ll get to reclaim a little piece of your childhood. That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

Lucy thought about it some more before finally nodding. “Yeah, I guess it does sound alright.”

“Great!” The man stood up again, patting her on the head and returning to his wooden slabs, beginning to saw into them one by one and cut out the shapes he’d drawn. “In the meantime, you should start thinking about what kind of costume you’re going to wear.”

“Costume?” The girl sat up in her seat, glancing from the work being done by her guardian to the man himself.

“Yeah, every year people dress up as their favorite stars or characters or whatever while they go around begging for treats. I figured that’d be your favorite part of it all.”

“Well, you already said I can’t just use my “dark side” for it.” She pouted playfully and crossed her arms.

“Nope,” Wilson reaffirmed, holding up his first of many wooden cutouts. “So pick something else.”

“Hmm,” Lucy sat and tapped on her chin, thinking hard on potential costume ideas. Something cute but still somewhat fierce. Something the suited. Her gaze wandered to the cutout in Wilson’s hands as he held it up to inspect it. That’s when the idea hit her.

“How about a bat?”

Wilson grinned back at her, somewhat proud of how she’d taken inspiration from his outline of the night creature and made an idea of her own.

“How did I know you were gonna say that?”


	6. Warm Drinks (Wilson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson introduces his daughter to hot chocolate.

When the winds changed and the seasons turned, it wasn’t uncommon for Wilson’s preferred drinks to change. Whereas he usually had tea and lemonade through the warmer months, when fall and winter arrived he preferred to drink coffee and hot chocolate. It was a personal preference and the remnants of some compulsive behavior that remained from the patterns he’d formed with his wife. Although if he really thought about it, Robert had done this all his life. It just made sense to drink cold drinks when it was hot and hot drinks when it was cold.

It seemed that his habits were spreading now, however. His early morning coffee at dawn was often accompanied by his stuffed toy with claws. Not that it surprised him. Boris was an enigma in his own right and always seemed to be following Wilson around whenever and wherever he could, mimicking his behavior and scuttling around within the confines of his mind. Needless to say, that meant his cups of coffee were decaffeinated.

On the other hand, Lucy seemed completely uninterested in coffee altogether. She complained that it was far too bitter for her liking, but she quite enjoyed the occasional hot chocolate and popcorn bowl with Wilson while they stayed up watching monster movies. So much so that she could expect a nice glass of it before bed every night. Wilson was sure to serve it warm so that Lucy had some heat retained to help her sleep more comfortably- something he’d found was quite invaluable to vampires and their cold-blooded bodies.

One particular evening, Lucy had wandered back in from a night of feeding and was drawn to the kitchen by the familiar scent of her second favorite hot drink. Tucking her wings away and wiping off her chin with a napkin, she pulled up a chair from the kitchen table and stood upon it so she could lean onto the counter and watch Wilson as he worked. “I smell chocolate.”

“Well, there’s one thing you have in common with all the other kids-” he turned, lightly tapping her on the nose with the tip of his finger, “you rascals always know where the candy’s at. Sugar chasers.”

Lucy giggled, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the countertop. “Is it hot chocolate?”

“Of course, I figured you’d be home soon so I’m making your glass.” The elder hummed, holding up a brick of solid, sweetened milk chocolate and shaving off edges of it into a glass of warm milk. Once there was a sufficient amount of chocolate present, he stirred the mix together and held up a spoonful for Lucy. “Warm enough?”

Without hesitation, she took the spoon in her mouth, ripping it from Wilson’s hand. Pulling it from her mouth, she smacked her lips together several times before nodding. “Yup! Perfect!”

“Great,” he handed her one glass, taking the other for his own and setting it aside as he tucked the chocolate back away into his pantry. After several minutes he rejoined Lucy at the counter, clinking glasses with her and sipping as his own warm drink.

It felt nice to have someone to spend the season sharing drinks with again. The years had seemed to crawl by and carry with them a sense of mounting loneliness. Robert knew it was no one’s fault but his own- he never made any attempt to go out and interact with others. He’d never tried to reach out to his family. He’d never gone to any events to try and make himself feel better. He’d cast the whole world out and somehow convinced himself that things were better that way. Looking back on it, he felt a bit bitter about how much time he’d wasted feeling sorry for himself. So much opportunity had been there, and what had he done with it except use it to lay in bed all day and cry about the past? He shook off the idea.

Those days were over now. He had a family to look after, even if they didn’t require so much looking after as he had convinced himself they did. And that aside, he had an eternity ahead of him. A job to work at, places to see, a business to run. Warm drinks reminded him that even if the days were long and dark and reminded him of the cold past, he had a life ahead of him just waiting to be experienced. He had to make the most of every day every chance he got. He had to try and be a bit more optimistic- a challenge for someone as snarky and cynical as he was. It must have been the age.

“What are we watching tonight?” Lucy raised her head from where she was currently licking at the inside of her glass in an attempt to get at the last few drops of her drink. Wilson chuckled, taking her glass from her and giving her what was left of his while he moved to make another.

“I’m not sure, we’ll have to see what they’re running on the station tonight.”

“The Phantom of the Opera,” Boris piped up as he walked into the kitchen, taking advantage of Lucy’s chair placement to get to higher ground. “I smell chocolate.”

“You want a cup too, eh?” Wilson mumbled as he pulled another glass from one of the cupboards and began making two glasses full. He looked to Lucy. “Feel like another one, squirt?”

“Yeah, I think I could do one more.” She grinned, sliding hers over to Wilson for another refill. He smiled back, amused at how she seemed to be picking up his mannerisms over time. While his back was turned, she noticed Boris attempting to climb onto the counter and quickly nudged the chair back and away from it with her foot. The bear managed to cling to the edge and climb up just in time and sent her pointed look. Before it could snip at her Wilson finished stirring the last of the chocolate into the milk and passed each of the two their glasses, hoping it would stop them from scowling at each other. To his delight, it worked, and he leaned back against the counter, beaming down at them.

“Drink up.”


	7. Baked Good (Bela and Wilson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson helps Bela expand on his newly-learned cooking skills and secretly pines the whole time.

With plenty of time and practice-- and a steadfast nature on Wilson’s part-- Bela’s cooking skills had improved. The fear of being served a glass of piping hot orange juice had decreased exponentially, and while the quality of the food he served was still very much at varying odds in terms of taste, Wilson was more than content to be the guinea pig and encourage what Bela did right, as well as educated him as to where he could use improvement or adjustment. Around this time of year, cooking became a very commonplace task. Treats were made for Halloween parties, and following Halloween would be Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Food was everywhere for the holidays. Advertisements for the best types of recipes and cooking styles were in every store window and newspaper, so it came as no surprise to Wilson when Bela had shown him an ad in one of his magazines for the perfect seasonal cookies- at least according to some big-name brand. Wilson almost wanted to shrug it off and inform Bela that the advertising was a gimmick that companies did every year just to boost sales, but something about the way the vampire’s eyes lit up in wonder at the idea, the way his ears folded back and the corners of his lips twitched upwards in a hopeful smile rendered Wilson unable to say anything of the sort for fear of breaking his precious little heart. He took a moment to think, before leaning forward from where he sat on the couch towards his companion.

“You know what, I’ll do you one better,” he grinned, gently tapping a finger against the flimsy pages in Bela’s grasp. “I’ll teach you one of my family’s cookie recipes that is infinitely better than anything the stores could come up with.”

He could hear Bela gasp before grinning in delight, showing off all of his teeth in excitement. Wilson melted at the sight. Never in his life would he get tired of seeing Bela’s adorable, toothy grin. It made him feel better about himself to know he could still make someone so happy after all these years. Slowly rising to his feet, he moved to the kitchen and gestured for Bela to follow. Drawing off his apron from its hanger on the nearby wall, he tied it around himself before moving behind Bela and helping him get his own on. “Alright, first things first. We gotta wash our hands and get everything together.”

As Wilson gave out the instructions, Bela dutifully followed his lead. He was eager to learn something new pertaining to his fascinating hobby of being in the kitchen he’d picked up so recently. And a family recipe nonetheless! To know Wilson not only liked him but trusted him enough to divulge such intimate and personal information to him- information that he could only assume had been passed down and built upon for generations in his family- it was almost enough to make Bela emotional given the circumstances. Why it brought about a sense of guilt even from how private it seemed, and Bela voiced his concerns as much.

“Are you quite certain you are comfortable in sharing such information with me, Mister Wilson?” His ears pulled back a slight, voice betraying his trepidation. “I would not wish to intrude on something so personal.”

“What are you talking about?” Wilson glanced over at him, arching up a brow as he pulled an old cookbook out of a line of several that rest on his kitchen countertop and brought it over.

“I simply mean that since it is a family recipe, it must be very important to you… I would not want to seem like I am prying into family matters.” The vampire continued with a nervous smile. The timidness caused an inkling of sympathy to bloom within Wilson’s chest. He felt a bit bad, knowing the overly polite behavior was Bela’s way of coping with the fact that so few people interacted with him by choice and the few that did he was desperate to please to avoid losing. And so he offered a kind smile and attempted to comfort him with a gentle hand on the shoulder.

“Bels, of course, I’m alright with sharing this with you. You’re part of the family now, you know? You’ve been the kindest, most loyal person I’ve met in a long time. You deserve to be here as much as anyone else in this household, alright?”

The reassurance moved the vampire to tears. He tried to subtly bite his lip to keep himself from sobbing. Truly, Robert had no idea how much his words truly meant to the doctor before him, but Bela would have made such emotion known by flinging himself against Wilson and clutching onto him had he not been interrupted first by a much nosier resident of the household.

“Even me?” Boris pokes his head out of a nearby painting, spooking the older man who flowered back at him.

“Well, no-” Wilson brought a hand up to his chin, tapping his finger against it and pretending to be deep in thought for a moment before responding, “come to think of it, Bela has _more_ of a right to be here than you. At least I like him.”

The shot caused the man in question to cover his mouth in an attempt to hide the snicker that rose up from his chest. Boris growled until he saw Wilson reach for a spatula. “Now get outta here, ya little bastard.”

Boris quickly backed off into his picture, vanishing from sight and leaving Bela and Wilson alone again. Setting down his utensil, he patted Bela on the back and smiled. “And enough of this sappy crap, we’ve got some cookies to back, don’t we?”

Bela nodded in agreement, following Wilson over to the counter. Aside from gathering the utensils and bowls they would need and setting the oven to preheat, Wilson scarcely intervened in preparing the cookie dough. Rather, he read out the instructions and watched Bela follow them, guiding him from afar and complimenting his good work. Only when it came to mixing did he offer a hand. He moved behind the slender man, setting his hands on the backs of the vampires and guiding him on how best to mix everything together into a fine, sweet-smelling dough. He lingered for just a few seconds before pulling back and complimenting the Romanian’s efforts. Finally, they stood together and made small balls of dough from the batter, pressing them down into the cookie sheets. From their initial mass, they collected a good two dozen cookies before setting the tray in the oven to bake. Now all that was left to do was wait for twenty minutes.

“Good job, Bels! First attempt at Halloween cookies went off without a hitch. Color me impressed.” The man chuckled as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. A desaturated pink spread across the vampire’s cheeks at the compliment, ears folding back in that way Wilson found so admirable and so intriguing. He blubbered about how the compliments were appreciated but unnecessary, but Wilson didn’t relent until he received no response, at which point he assumed that the compliments had been accepted.

Twenty minutes later, Robert was pulling the cookies out and allowing them to cool off. Bela stood by, ready to react in case he burned himself but thankfully, no such misfortune befell the other man. After a few minutes of cooling, he pulled one of the cookies from the tray and took a bite out of it. Nearby, Bela stood, holding in breath image did not need as he waited for Wilson’s final approval. His brow furrowed and he hummed as he swallowed, before looking at Bela with his signature lopsided grin.

“It’s perfect!”


	8. Movie Night (Wilson and Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson, Kurt, Bela, Lucy, and Boris spend a night watching a movie together like the family they all need each other to be.

Wilson enjoyed his films as much as any other man did. To be able to sit back and relax with a comfortable flick was one of life’s greatest luxuries to him. Partially because it was sometimes the only thing he was ever capable of getting up to do. Now more than ever, he appreciated the comforts that a good film offered. Tonight, it had brought his family together in the living, eagerly brushing up together and awaiting the start of the flick provided by the station just in time for the season: the Phantom of the Opera. Lucy had helped him make popcorn, Bela had taken a night off and helped him bake some cookies for the evening, Kurt had gotten his work done earlier in the day just so he could join them, even Boris was behaving so he could be allowed on the couch with them.

As the last of the pre-film advertisements began to roll in and the premier started, everyone settled into place with their snacks in hand. Wilson had gone and fetched the electric blanket, draping it over him and Bela as they squeezed together on one end of the couch. Sprawled across it starting from the other end was Kurt with his legs draped across both of the other men’s, making a perfect spot for Lucy, who took a seat on his shins right between the two and pulled the end of the blanket together to spare some heat for herself. Boris was content to sit on Kurt’s stomach, raiding the popcorn bowl and occasionally tossing kernels into Kurt’s mouth like some type of little game.

For once, it was quiet in Wilson’s house. Save for the sounds of the television accompanying the faint glows of the screen that illuminated the five of them in an otherwise dark house. It was quiet in his mind too, he noticed. He didn’t find himself so worried about everything being perfect. He didn’t feel the compulsive need to get up and go make food again and again until he got it right. Briefly glancing between the many content faces watching the television, Wilson felt himself smile as a warmth made itself known in his chest. Somehow, this was the most comforting thing he’d felt in a very, very long time. And he was grateful for it. He felt oddly at ease with his little ragtag family here with him tonight. Their presence seemed to offer him a type of peace of mind he’d not felt in decades. He took a deep breath, catching a glance from Bela out of the corner of his eye. He could tell the vampire was wondering if something was wrong, but he offered a light squeeze and that seemed to settle him back down again. It felt strange yet refreshing to have people around again. In a similar vein, it felt strange yet refreshing to be worried about— cared about again. He’d been alone for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to have people to look after, and who looked after him. He missed it so much. He would do anything to avoid losing it again.

The film was fairly good in Wilson’s opinion. For a remake, he thought it did the original from a couple of decades back a fair amount of justice. If his sentiment was shared, he wouldn’t know. Most of his family had been lost along the way to the conclusion of the film. Unsurprisingly, all of the cookies were gone, devoted either by Boris or Kurt. The latter of the two was completely knocked out and snoring on the couch with the bear on his chest halfway there. Lucy had leaned back against him and Bela and dozed off. Bela was curled into his side, ears back and one arm draped almost protectively around Lucy and pressing the both of them into Wilson. When he turned off the TV, he glanced around at all of them. He wouldn’t lie, it was late when they had started and by now, he was most certainly ready to go to bed. The only issue was, everyone seemed to be piled on him. Chuckling softly to himself, Robert decided it would be better not to move for now. Everyone needed their rest and he would simply clean up in the morning if necessary.

He reached to switch off the electric blanket, thoroughly warmed by it, and wrapped his arms around Bela and Lucy, leaning back to try and get a bit more comfortable. The two shifted easily enough without being stirred awake and Wilson yawned as he leaned his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes. His train of thought seemed to pick up from whatever station he’d left it at for the duration of the movie, carrying with it thoughts and considerations that up until this point, Wilson had never really thought about.

It felt strange to be part of a family again. He hasn’t felt this connected to people since William, since Evelyn, since before the war. After his deployment, that all had been flushed to hell. It was upon returning home from the battlefield, a hellish landscape of scorched earth and bodies strewn about like the toys of careless toddler thrown about in a tantrum, that Wilson came to the realization that everyone he knew and loved would someday die. And try as he might to push it towards the back of his mind, he couldn’t bear the thought when he heard about his sweet wife’s fate. Death by a broken heart, he was told. Unsure if he’d be able to survive another tragedy after his late beloved, Wilson shut himself off from the world. A pitiful fate for any man, but it felt like the only way to spare himself the hurt. And yet, despite all that he had solemnly vowed to himself, here he was. Forming interpersonal connections with people again, loving and caring for them, wanting nothing more than to protect them from the world, even if in the end, losing them was a very real possibility. And seeing them all like this, leaning on him metaphorically and literally, was what caused him to make up his mind right then and there.

The world could be a dark and terrible place— this he knew, but he would never stop fighting to try and make it even a little bit better for them.


	9. Scary Stories (Elsa and the Mystery Man)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent discloses to Elsa how he came to have the device in his possession.

In his line of work, Vincent supposed it was customary to run into things such as urban legends. Ghost stories were often the biggest lead that guided him towards a potential target, ancient legends and myths passed down from generation to generation, often used as a tactic by parents to scare their little ones into eating their vegetables. By this point, many people had forgotten why the whispers even lingered, thinking of them as little more than the paranoid antics of their ancestors. But Van Helsing knew otherwise. He knew that no story came about without a reason, especially when so many people knew about it unanimously. Finding these people was easy. It was finding the source of their paranormal claims that often proved a challenge, and so often the very beings so often spoken of seemed to slip through his fingers. Mere legends for another day. Notes missed in an attempt to salvage what had been lost.

Elsa came around the order’s base of operations, now a frequent sight for many of Vin’s staff. They disregarded her presence, merely acknowledging her as one of them, an equal in their cause, and allowed her to make her way confidently to Vincent’s office. Whenever she could, the woman brought notes of her own that she’d managed to tug out of Harcourt’s old office in the hospital without being noticed. She’d bring them here and study them for hours with Vincent, trying to interpret them. It helped, as his own travels allowed him to understand the late man’s scrawlings in a way the woman could only ever hope to. Sometimes, additional field research was necessary, and in one such instance like now, Elsa could not hold back her tongue as she looked up at him.

“What if it’s just some story the locals made up?”

“Ms. Wolcott,” he chuckled, standing up straight and smoothing out his crisp clean shirt, “when you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you come to realize that every story has an origin. Even the ones you wish didn’t.”

Elsa smiled a bit at the somewhat vague reassurance and leaned back in her seat. “Are you telling me you’ve never gone on a hunt that’s just turned out to be a scary story?”

“I’m certain I have, and perhaps I’ve misconstrued it as the creature escaping me, but to my knowledge, all of my leads to this very day have proven… reliable.” He hummed, offering her a polite and confident smile.

Elsa couldn’t argue with that. But it did pique her curiosity. “Alright then. So, what’s the most interesting lead you’ve ever had?”

The question took Vincent a moment to answer. A hand rose to stroke his beard, eyes rolled up in thought and the light caught in his spectacles creating a mysterious glare. “Ah, forgive me for my silence— with so many to go through, it is hard to pick the most interesting one. Though I suppose one truly stands out to me.”

Elsa leaned forward, intent on listening to every word that spilled from the hunter’s mouth as though it were word from the Lord himself. Van Helsing couldn’t help but chuckle at the intensity of her intrigue. It was adorable how insatiable her appetite for knowledge was at times. He might have to ask her about it at some point.

“As you know, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. I’ve been to many places, seen many things. Slain them too. Within my order, I’m certain that everyone has at least five werewolf skin. Two coats, two trophies, and a rug for their fireplaces.” He smiled, but the warmth of it was tainted by something wicked. Something heartless, amused at the idea. Nevertheless, it certainly got his next point across well. “We were of the belief that there were no more werewolves in the world, born or turned. After our last expedition out to Russia where we were investigating a suspicious pack of animals that seemed to come around whenever some of the town folks went missing, we didn’t find any bodies. Not cold ones at least. The pack was thirty strong by the time we’d gotten there. Luckily, our silver traps worked wonders on them. They were taken care of in a fortnight. After that, we stopped hearing whispers about werewolves altogether from our field contacts. Many thought the deed was done and that finally, we had eradicated the world of one type of pest.”

He huffed confidently at the thought but Elsa knew this tale was far from over and scooted forward towards the edge of her seat further.

“Well, that was all before a few weeks ago. After several years of silence, someone from the order came to me saying we had been contacted. My first thought was that it was some poor innocent seeking help with a paranormal problem. And I suppose, in a way, I was not wrong. I would come to find out that it was a young man that had reached out to us claiming that he was a werewolf in need of help, for he had been inflicted with a terrible curse that caused his transformations and he wished for help in being rid of it.”

A gasp came from the woman serving as his audience. “What did you do?”

“Initially, I had the good habit in my mind to send someone to kill him. He was a turned werewolf, you see, and turneds are far more dangerous than born werewolves. Not having grown up with the beast spirit inside of them, they struggle to control it, if they can at all. But I paused and considered how diligently and bold he was to be contacting a group of monster hunters, whether he knew it or not, to help with his problem. That alone wouldn’t have swayed me, but unfortunately, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse…” Turning in his heel, Van Helsing glanced back at his shelves behind him and reached up, taking something in his hand. When he turned back to face her, he held something unmistakably familiar in his palm. The research assistant’s eyes widened at the sight.

“The device?”

“Indeed— the young man had come from the same hospital as you. He mentioned that he had initially gone to Harcourt but our ‘old friend’ was of no help to him. Imagine that… I can’t seem to recall the details at this moment, or perhaps he didn’t specify it at all, but somehow, he’d managed to escape the incident with the device in hand. And in return for my services, he offered to give it to me if I promised to help him. And I, being a man of my word, even to the less than human, so willfully took it. After all, such an invaluable opportunity doesn’t come around every day. In exchange, I warned him to keep his nightly activities from becoming local news and informed him that he should be ready to act should I contact him. His little errands are partly the only reason he’s still breathing.”

“You are cruel, Van Helsing,” Elsa giggled, sitting back in her seat and crossing one leg over the other. “But does he actually carry out your errands?”

“Of course. He’s proven his desperation to be rid of this curse so much already, I almost feel pity for making him run around and fetch things like a dog.” His brows perked up, smirk growing smug as he took a seat in his office chair again. “For his sake, he'd better keep up the act and behave. Otherwise—“ the hunter’s gaze moved from the woman over to the wall across from him where a rifle rested on a shelf in its display case, several bullets neatly arranged around it in a decorative display.

“I may have a bullet with his name on it.”


	10. Candy (Lucy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy tries candy for the first time ever and decides it's the best thing since blood.

It had been years since Lucy had consumed something even vaguely solid. She wasn’t really sure she could do it anymore when she thought about it. Centuries had passed of her surviving on a diet consisting solely of blood. Liquid was so easy to digest, so simple for her vampire body to process, unliked solid food which took chewing— grinding of the teeth and the risk of dulling the sharp points of enamel which she relied on to survive. Solids were completely foreign to her at this point. When Wilson initially tried to tempt her with a treat from the vending machine in the hospital, she so adamantly turned it down knowing that it wouldn’t help her, but was that really the case?

For the first time in years, Lucy found her mouth-watering at something other than the sight of a bare exposed neck, veins throbbing beneath the surface filled with the sweet warm liquid she’d come to rely on. She was certain chocolate and caramel would not hold the same tang that flavors like A, B, positive, and negative did, but still, the scent of it enticed her. The quiet snap it made as it was bitten into and split into pieces, it seemed to jar something within the vampire sector of her brain. Not quite like the crunch of bone, the squelch of flesh as she sank her teeth into muscle and ripped at arterial tissue to bring forth a geyser for her feasting pleasure. But it was pleasant and tempting to her nonetheless.

Making her way over to the kitchen, she peered over the far edge of it at the elder currently having himself a snack. Home for an hour or so while on a break, the elder had brought back a basket of candy left as a gift for him from one of his coworkers and was currently indulging in some of the treats the proceeded basket held within it. Ever the curious one, Lucy leaned up more to rest her chin on the countertop, catching Wilson’s attention.

“Heya, squirt.” He moves over towards her, offering a small smile. “How’s your day been? Your brother come home yet?”

“It’s been okay.” She looked away, dodging the latter question. On any other occasion, she would have gladly informed Robert of the fact she hadn’t seen Kurt yet, meaning she was home by herself for a good portion of her day thus far. But she was currently on a mission to obtain sweets and didn’t want to get sidetracked from that objective. Besides, she could take care of herself. Right now, her priority was on acting clueless and curious for the sake of snacks. Glancing back at Robert, she pointed to the chocolate in his hand. “What’s that?”

“This?” He pointed to the candy, to which Lucy nodded in affirmation. “This is a candy bar, baby bat.”

“What’s it taste like?” She tilted her head.

“Chocolate,” he responded. “Most of them are. I’m sure other kinds exist but the most I’ve seen is all chocolate.”

Lucy continued to state at the treat, eyes oddly focused on the sweet with an intensity that was incredibly unnerving coming from a child. Wilson didn’t really mind it too much. He was far too adapted to Lucy’s antics to mind a bit of staring from his daughter at this point. Instead, he glanced between the chocolate in his hand and her before holding it out to her. She blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever stupor the sugary delight had seemed to put her in and took it in her hands.

Observing it, it looked like a collection of tiny bricks all stuck together in tight, neat rows. Subjecting it to a bit of force caused the bricks to split apart perfectly down the lines sunken in between them. Sniffing at it, the scent of the chocolate was so strong at this range and Lucy found herself having to put it away from her for a moment. It was overwhelmingly sweet-smelling, yet not like how a flower or perfume or fruit would smell.

Watching his daughter methodically examine the candy he’d given her was something amusing to Wilson. He sat idly by, watching as Lucy observed the strange food like a cat examining a new and fascinatingly foreign toy. It was remarkable to watch her rediscover such commonplace things, yet it was equally sad when he realized that these were things she should have been familiar with. Remembering that she was a child with no childhood, a girl with no background was something that tugged at the man’s heartstrings often. He felt for Lucy. The poor girl had nothing before he’d taken her in. Watching her learn about the world around her warmed him, however, and only reaffirmed his mission to be a good example for her.

Lucy was none the wiser about Wilson’s secret mission. She was just focused on the small offering held given her. It had a different kind of scent to it. The processed and sugary kind. Curious about it still, Lucy raised a broken bit to her lips and gave it a curious nibble. It was not nearly as hard as she thought it would be. Not hard at all. It was then that she began to notice that it was actually growing quite soft and smearing on her fingertips with a consistency much thicker than blood. She glanced eternally her fingers, unsure of how to handle the situation but fully aware if she didn’t act fast, she may very well have had a puddle of liquid at her feet and rather a mess to clean up. The moment of truth arrived. With little time to think about or consider her actions, Lucy quickly shoved what little of her treat was not completely liquified into her mouth. The taste, like the aroma, was overly sweet on her tongue, yet she found it was not unbearably so. After several seconds of fruitless chewing, she found it was already rather liquified and simply swallowed, wiping at her mouth with the back of her wrist.

Oh, now that was good. Breaking out in a grin, Lucy peered up at Wilson from behind the counter, a gleam in her eyes.

“Can I have some more chocolate, dad?”


	11. Costumes (Lucy and Boris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy sneaks Boris out to work on making him a costume for Halloween.

“Do you think I could pass a really tiny kid in a costume?”

“Not a chance.” Lucy hummed, popping another chocolate into her mouth as she stared down at the bear, annoyed with her response. The demon huffed and threw himself down onto his bottom, crossing her arms over his chest.

“Lucy’s right, you know,” Wilson chimed in from where he was currently pinning a wooden bat on the wall. “You’d have to play the role of a baby or some little pooch just to get by, and even if we did let you out there, I don’t trust you enough not to turn this neighborhood upside down.”

The little vampire giggled at the comment, watching as Boris drew his woven lips back and bared his grinding teeth. “I can be good and you know it!”

“Yeah, because you were so good in the hospital.” Wilson turned around to offer the bear in incredulous look, leaving the prop to dangle for a minute, before dropping to the ground and narrowly missing his foot, causing him to jump in alarm. “Shit— I need to get a different nail…”

Hurrying off, he left the two occupants to their conversation once more. Lucy swallowed another sweet from the goodie basket Robert had made her. “Don’t worry, Boris. Push come to shove we could always bully Bela into making you a costume.”

“Nah, it wouldn’t work,” the toy waved off the thought, exposing his nub-like claws from between the gaps in threading at the ends of his arms and scratching under his chin. “Wilson won’t let me within a mile of him after last time. Jumped out of a painting while they were talking and thought it would make a good prank. Scared Bela out of his skin but Wilson wasn’t so jumpy. At least not how I was hoping he would be. He punted me right back into the picture. My head starts to hurt just thinking about it.”

“So what are you gonna do then?” Lucy dank back into the cousins, plucking up a lollipop from her collection and slouching down. She kicked her feet up into the far arm of the sofa, twirling the candy between her fingers.

“No idea. Might just have to fashion something myself.” Tapping on his chin, Boris rolled his eyes up in thought. What else could he do? His options were limited between the timeframe and Wilson’s disposition towards him. He didn’t want to get left behind while everyone else went out trick-or-treating but the more options he had to strike out, the more he realized that it was a very real possibility for him.

“I could help you come up with something.” Lucy sat up, pulling the leftover stick of her treat from her mouth. Boris’ ears shot up along with his brow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing better to do and I’ve got a good hand at sewing. We’d just need to get the material and an idea of what we’re going to do. It’s not that hard.” She sat up properly on the seat, looking down at the demon before her.

“Easier said than done, what makes you think Old Man Bobert is just going to let you run off and get things yourself?”

“Watch this,” the girl turned to watch Wilson walk back into the living room, a box of nails under one arm and hammer in hand.

“Dad, could I have some money?” She chirped, watching as Wilson set down the box, plucked up a nail, and began to measure the wall for an ideal spot.

“What for?”

“I wanted to go out and get some material to work on a costume. It’s been a while since I’ve sewn, and I was hoping that for Halloween I could make something unique.” Lucy was frighteningly good at sweetening her tone. It came with the decades of experience— the countless years spent practicing her fragile helpless little girl routine.

“I don’t know, Lu,” Wilson began lightly tapping the nail into the wall. “That store is all the way across town. Kurt’s not around to drive you and it’s getting kind of late, I don’t know how I feel about letting you go off all by yourself at this hour.”

“I promise I’ll only go to the fabric store and then I’ll come right back. I won’t be long.” She leaned over the couch, raising her voice an octave. That usually worked with her other families. When she heard Wilson grumble indecisively, she decided to try one last tactic. Moving off the couch, she came to his side and lightly tugged on his shirt. Finally, he looked away from the prop that was now hanging proudly on the wall and down to the little girl at his hip, her wide eyes sparkling and her lips curved up in the sweetest of innocent smiles. “Pleeeeaaaase?”

The elder gave a deep sigh and finally relented, drawing his wallet from his pocket. “Alright, alright. Here—“ he held out twenty dollars to her and glanced at the grandfather clock nearby, “this should cover it. Right now it’s almost five. I want you back here by no later than half-past six, alright?”

“Okie dokie!” Lucy quickly took up the money in her grasp and beamed up at her guardian. “Thanks, dad!”

Wilson ruffled her hair before returning to his work on the wall. Slinking away from his side and towards the door, gesturing for Boris to follow, Lucy’s innocent facade melted away into a smug smirk. The bear gladly followed, making his way over and slipping out with her while Wilson’s back was turned.

Despite the occasional scrutinizing look they received from the cashier as they moved between the aisles, looking to find who Lucy was talking to when she was very clearly the only other person in there, the two managed to make it back home before the hour had passed, fabrics, threading, and needles in hand as they hid away in Lucy’s room to get to work. With their plan in mind, the two set about creating a model outfit for Boris just in style for the season.

Suffice to say, he would blend in seamlessly with the rest of his equally batty family.


	12. Gore (Boris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things never change. Like Boris' carnal desire to make Robert's life a living hell.

Some part of the bear’s sadistic mind indulged in gore. The idea that his claws could sink into quivering flesh and draw forth gushing fountains of blood, expose clenched muscle fibers weaving together and trembling under his razor-like appendages. It was something that made him giggle to think about. Some dim primordial part of his brain was dedicated to the idea— the cause even— of inflicting pain on others and watching the life drain from their eyes in pools of red around their bodies. Even now, when his opportunities to do so we’re limited. Since leaving the hospital with Wilson, the bear no longer felt the urge as strongly or as consistently as he had when things were still spiraling about in complete disarray and out of anyone’s control. His focus narrowed down and his tactics changed, but his love for the scent and sight of blood did not share in this evolution. It had not whittled away completely, and there were still stones when he found himself able to indulge in his cruel fun.

So often it was just him and his teddy bear. Wilson would be weak, vulnerable, emotionally compromised from some sudden spell of his shell shock reminding him he was a broken and bitter man. The memories that resurfaced paralyzed him and sent him over the edge into blind stupors full of activities he wouldn’t always be able to remember performing. And Boris knew everything that he did. He knew what made the man most insecure, what could trigger these thoughts in him. Sure, sometimes he would fight back, but it would only encourage the bear to act. He would poke, prod, and goad the old fool to action, berate him for all of his failures, all of his shortcomings, and when the opportunity finally presented itself, he would strike.

There was something satisfying about hearing Wilson’s guttural cries, watching him reel back and clasp at his injuries, hissing and writhing in pain that only seemed to worsen once he examined the extent of the damage. He would glare, and sometimes it would be weak, and in return, the bear would smirk. He knew when he had won. Sure it would come to bite him in the ass later, but he could never resist the urge to gloat and raise his claws still freshly wetted with the blood he had so proudly spilled. He was smug. Overconfident. And Wilson hated how proud of himself he was over it all.

Despite having plenty of targets that wandered in and out of the house now on a frequent basis, none of them appealed to him the way Wilson did. Or rather, Wilson didn’t come with the level of risk that anyone else did. Having sharp teeth, claws, and almost chaotically feral behavioral patterns were something the bear and Lucy shared, and something he was none too interested in having used on him. Kurt was a lot like Wilson in terms of personality and temperament, but without knowing what was going on inside his head, Boris was left to guess where the lines were drawn with the younger man, and that could very easily mean overstepping a boundary he wasn’t even aware of. And unlike Wilson, Boris was unclear as to how he’d respond to such a crossing. And Bela, mild-mannered as he was and despite their initial introduction, was still another vampire. More tame and docile than Lucy, but still a vampire in every sense of the word. He’d never seen the man particularly angry, but he was certain if he was caught by him under poor circumstances he would not want to find out what he was like in such an agitated emotion. Wilson was predictable, easy to push the buttons on, and much more fun to watch break down from his simple toying and trifling.

Decorating his sin with crosshatching lines, scars old and new blended into patchy messes amongst all the freckles and accompanied heinous words. Threats of consequences without Wilson’s compliance. Reminders of how little his sorry self was worth. The resurgence of memories he’d tried so hard to forget. Everything hurt just a little bit more when Boris cut at him with every syllable that spilled off his tongue.

Wilson was all out of bandages, mentally and physically. There was nowhere to run, there was no fighting back. He could only stand and watch as his skin continued to be plucked open by awful claws, hear the cruel laughter that accompanied the sounds of metal ripping through fabric, piercing layers of skin and severing tissues for the sake of a bit of sadistic joy. It reminded him of the nurses who had died whilst he’d fled. It reminded him of the fact he could have done something more to help them— he should have done something more to help them. It reminded him that his family was now in constant danger. A threat loomed over them at all times, and it was soft, fluffy, and capable of killing them all in a matter of hours if it so desired. How would he live with himself knowing he had the chance to intervene and let it slip through his fingers once again?

The answer was, he wouldn’t.

Developing a tolerance for the many ounces of blood he’d watched pool around his ankles took time, but it was time well-spent in his mind. Anything was worth the pain. His family was worth the pain. He would not lose more people that he loved and cared for to circumstances he could have prevents had he just been there. He’d vowed to himself that he would always be there when they needed him. He would always protect them, no matter what the cost to do so was. He would fight another war right on his front doorstep, he would stay up all night if he had to— he would do anything to avoid losing more family. Push come to shove, he would die for them if he had to.

A bit of gore for the toy’s amusement was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.


	13. Fear (Wilson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting over the past is hard enough without it breathing down your neck. Much less subjecting you to constant, painful physical injury.

There was a sharp and sudden cry from the man as he clutched his arm, grumbling at how sharp pain twisted into the layers of his flesh as if the claws were still embedded in his skin. He raised his hand after several moments of clutching himself to reveal the wounds. Four perfectly straight slash marks greeted him from their new home on his forearm. With a garden of freckles and plenty of neighboring scars, they joined the cul-de-sac of other wounds he’d accumulated over the years, making themselves right at home as they oozed dark blood like strange lights from their windows in his skin.

The voice of that damned stuffed animal drove him crazy. Maniacal, grating, taunting. It haunted him wherever he went, non-stop, every hour of the day; spewing facts about his life, warping his thoughts about how people perceived him, reminding him of things he thought he’d made his peace with after battling them for so long- declaring the armistice was over and sending him back into a war with himself. The blood of his dreams was all over his fingers, any hope of recovery died young in his arms. Doubts crossed his front lines, overtaking him in the split second he turned his back to try and get back on his feet and stand up for himself. He was pulled from the trenches of coping mechanisms he’d dug out to protect himself, only to find that they were much more shallow than he’d thought they were all this time. Only so effective, not very protective. And so he became a prisoner of war to his own mind.

Cruel confusion formed the bars of his cell, the weight of his guilts a ball and chain, and he, the weary soldier, wore his humiliation in black and white stripes, toiling away in his bed to perform the hard labor of tearing off the bedsheets so that he might be able to stand again. He gripped his bewilderment with white knuckles and rattled it mercilessly, begging to be left alone and in silence for one minute so that he might have been able to imagine the key that might free himself from this blight. But Boris was the warden. He carried no weapon but his words, phrases, and syllables that cut him down more effectively than his claws ever could. It was baton and he was the unlucky soul the warden always liked to take his frustrations out on, especially when he tried his damnedest and fought back against his captor valiantly. But what did it get him?

In facing the bear, he was deeply wounded. The marks on his flesh were just another reminder that even if he managed a way out of his cell, there was no true escape from the horror of his reality. This was Hell. This was his eternal punishment for all that he had done, and all that he had failed to do. His regrets had a harsh, snarky voice and great claws forged from the guilty verdict he’d been branded with upon returning home to American soil. And so often they would sneak up on him, rip him apart and expose the sin beneath his flesh: it oozed from him, dark and viscous, and it stained his skin. No matter how hard he tried to wipe it off it would smear across the pallid surface of his arms, reminding him that it could never truly be washed away— not even by the tears that fell from his eyes as he screamed out apologies, burning his wounds like branding irons, marking him as forever the sinner, forever the regretful, forever the man who never did enough and was currently burning in Hell for it. And Hell had no fire which burned hot enough for him. But the salt compensated for that, and when his tears made his injuries ache, he could only think about how this must have been Hell— for such a scorching feeling to overtake his wounds, coming from the sin which he so willfully created if the thoughts swirling within his mind were anything to go by. He’d bitten the apple that sent him that condemned him to this hell when he’d answered the call of duty. His wife had suffered for his mistakes, his unknown and unborn child fading with her and he didn’t not a damn thing to prevent.

Wilson’s vision blurred as he looked at his hands, fingers now smeared with blood from trying to wipe away the liquid guilt. He couldn’t even feel as Boris sank his claws into the man’s back. All he could register between sobs were Boris’ cold cruel voice hissing to him that this was all his fault. It always had been. It always would be. Robert had to live every moment going forward knowing that everything that happened was his fault, was his issue that he failed to handle correctly, and now he was paying the price for it all. The idea of facing reality was something truly terrifying. Pain and dead wracked the old man’s body and forced him to curl up into a tight ball of himself, cries smothered as he pressed his face into his knees and wailed.

So this was it then. A life so long-lived and forever stretching from now on, and he was to spend it alone with his demon. There was no one who could help him. No one understood what he’d been through, what he had seen. No one understood how hard it was to breathe with claws at their throat, blood mingling with their sweat and running down their spine along with the fear that the rest of eternity was to be spent with hourly reminders day and night that the isolation he felt inside would be the only comfort he ever received and it was the only comfort he was worthy of. God, Robert felt pathetic for feeling so terrified. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop the cheers rolling down his cheeks. Because he knew he had every right to be scared.

Because Boris was right.

And that was truly terrifying.


End file.
